


Passage

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, Returning Home, Semi-Public Sex, The sin carriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:46:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28820202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: Logically speaking, being in such close quarters with someone as dangerous as the Cardinal was not the best idea. But it was a thrilling one.
Relationships: Armand Jean du Plessis de Richelieu/de Tréville (Trois Mousquetaires)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Passage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [be_cum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/be_cum/gifts).



It was so late that it was almost early, the faint rays of the sunrise would soon appear. The faint starlight struggling through the gaps in the clouds was the only thing that lit up the inside of the fine carriage making its way through snowy Paris.

Treville breathed out through his teeth, wrapping his cloak around himself to ward off the worst of the cold.

Logically speaking, being in such close quarters with someone as dangerous as the Cardinal was not the best idea. But it was a thrilling one.

Richelieu was wearing his worst smile, hackles raised and all movements shifty as hell. His curls, which had been tamed into looking presentable just a few hours ago, looked like a fluffy cloud. He’d been so focused on insulting Treville for a thousand things that he hadn’t bitten at the skin around his nails for long enough for the wounds to start healing properly.

It was a wonderful sight.

Even if it was a blurry one.

Treville’s eye was still almost swollen shut, his arm in a sling and the livid cuts on his face still smarted. Not to mention the bruises and cuts all over his body. He’d cleaned himself up as much as he could after the doctor had taken a good look at him, washing off the blood and smell of horseshit and sweat before he went to speak to the king.

It was rare that he left Paris to join his men on a mission, but it had been too risky to let them try to handle it on his own. It would have been like sending overenthusiastic kids to run across a frozen river that already had more than a few cracks in it and was rumored to have taken several lives. If he hadn’t gone, they’d all ended up dead and gone.

He’d barely made it home alive as it was.

The king had been horrified when he saw how deep the cut that reached from Treville’s forehead down his eye and further down his cheek was, looking at Treville’s bruised knuckles with barely disguised alarm. And the finger-shaped marks on his neck too, blue and purple and green.

The Cardinal had been calmer, pointing out that injuries were a part of the job as the Captain of the Musketeers and that Treville would no doubt heal well and fast. And then the man had taken a look at the sun sinking outside and offered to give the Captain a ride in his carriage back to the barracks, which the king agreed to being a good idea before Treville could open his mouth.

Only then did the king calm down enough to listen to Treville’s hoarse report on what had happened on the mission, leaning back in his chair as the Musketeers looked shifty and uncomfortable as he asked them about the fine details of their involvement in the mission. And why they had let their Captain get hurt on their watch.

The carriage was moving slower than it usually did due to the frozen ground, the driver taking his time as the heavy snow settled on the rooftops and roads of Paris.

“You better make sure that the fire is roaring in front of that pitifully small cot of yours,” Richelieu said. “I don’t want to wake up tomorrow to the news that you froze to death in your sleep.”

“Not everyone has all those cats to warm their bed,” Treville told Richelieu, his voice hoarse. “Or mistresses.”

He only had blankets. The little natural padding he’d managed to hold onto was gone now, as the food during the long mission had been in short supply and there had often been so much work to get done that he’d forgotten to eat.

“I better make sure that you are warm before you go to bed, then,” Richelieu said, looking pleased with himself, all wrapped up in endless layers. “Since I won’t be joining you there.”

Treville shook his head at the image of what would happen if the Cardinal would show up at the garrison in all his red silk and haughtiness.

“The doctor kept reassuring me that my wounds would be healed by the time I married,” Treville said, running his hand though his hair. “I’m sure he’s right.”

“Of course he is,” Richelieu said. “A few decades or so is plenty of time for ugly scars to stop being terrible and start looking dashing.”

He did not say that these decades would be spent in the countryside, alone and far from Richelieu’s bones in Paris. Treville did not need to hear it.

“It’s not that bad,” Treville said, giving the Cardinal an ugly look. “I’m still alive.”

“You don’t look it,” Richelieu said. “You look like a warning of what’ll happen if you are a reckless idiot that doesn’t’ know when to stop.”

“Look who is talking,” Treville shot back. “When was the last time you slept?”

“I’m not planning on it tonight,” Richelieu said. “Not when my time can be used more wisely.”

Had they had an audience, Treville would have made a face and hidden his smile with his hand later on. Instead, he looked right into Richelieu’s eyes and smiled. His face ached as he did it, but it was worth it to see the light grown brighter in Richelieu’s eyes.

“I’m glad we agree on something,” Treville said, moving closer to Richelieu. “I’m not planning on wasting any time.”

Richelieu’s hand was warm as he cupped the back of Treville’s neck as he kissed him, drinking in the sounds that Treville started making as soon as he deepened the kiss. Whimpers and moans, low but audible as the storm outside started raging and Richelieu unfastened the ties on his trousers.

The kisses grew harsher, both clung to each other as hard as they could. Fingers sinking into flesh, blood dripping down Treville’s lip after Richelieu had bitten it too hard.

Richelieu groaned as Treville pulled at his curls, the sound torn from him.

Treville bared his neck, tilting his head back as Richelieu stroked him, every movement practiced and efficient. He was too tired for resistance, for keeping quiet.

“You-“ he began, in between gasps.

“Later,” Richelieu said, impatiently. And then he tripled his pace, grinning at Treville made an incoherent sound. “We haven’t got any time-“

They had never had any time for this to begin with. What they had were locked offices and abandoned hallways, bedrooms in the middle of the night and this carriage.

The handkerchief was already in place when Treville came, his trousers retied and everything in its place as soon as he could think again. His face felt hot, his whole body was flushed.

And Richelieu looked very smug.

“Welcome back to Paris,” Richelieu said as the carriage came to a halt in front of the barracks. The door opened and Treville stepped out, the cold biting at him as soon as his feet touched the ground.

He turned to see the door closing again and the driver climbing back to his seat, then the sound of the whip.

The snowflakes continued to waft around him as he made his way to his office, where there was a heap of paperwork to be done and indeed a roaring fire and an extra thick blanket on his cot. In an hour or two the morning training would start and the doctor would show up with fresh bandages and medicine and poke him all over.

But for now he could change into his nightclothes as leisurely as he liked, the warmth of Richelieu’s fingers and lips lingering still as he wrapped himself in his blankets.


End file.
